The last several months have seen infrequent posts here, after 2 years of steady nonsense. Call it 'Life.' 'Moving.' 'Working.' I'll get back to it, and it'll be more interesting, re-vamped. New and improved. I hope so anyway. But for now, official notice. No more posts until I can do it properly.
I'll call you. Promise.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Actually, just finished reading.
A disappointing, slight book from Roth. It's a book that won't appease the feminist critics (or many women at all, come to that). After the electric resurgence of (approx -) Sabbaths Theatre through The Plot Against America, it seems that Roth, in an effort to beat Father Time, is cranking out books at too fast a pace; the quality is deteriorating. It's one thing (and not a small thing either) for Woody Allen to crank out films at the rate of one per year, but Roth churning out novels at a similar pace? It's still astonishing.
I'm reviewing the book for The Austin American Statesman. It's due in early November.
And, I know, this has nothing to do with images. But did I mention the change in philosophy behind this site?
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
The Bronte parsonage, in Haworth, Yorkshire, where the Bronte sisters lived and died. Charlotte and Emily are the two most well known sisters - but who was the third sister?
Trivia answer: Anne, also an author. There was a brother too, Branwell a painter and opium addict.
The average life expectancy in Haworth in the mid-1800's was 25. Emily died at 30, Anne died at 29, and Charlotte died at 38. Branwell died at 30.
Emily, Anne and Branwell died within six months of one another, from tuberculosis.
There were six Bronte children, though two didn't make it past infancy. Charlotte lived the longest, at 38. The father, Patrick, outlived all of them by some distance. He lived to the age of 84.
These are not their gravestones, but rather, random faded stones from the cemetery in which they're buried.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Who but a comedian would name a prison 'Strangeways'?
In Manchester we call it The Strangeways Hotel. Boddingtons Brewery sits just across the street. Double penury.
There's something wistful about this image, taken late on a summer evening from the train, heading into Manchester.
Trivia note: I worked at the photo lab in Manchester where album artwork for The Smiths 'Strangeways Here We Come' was printed.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
This is my Mum's bedside table. Invariably in poor health, yet cheery and indomitable, she had to stay in bed a couple of days while I was home. She's barely five feet tall, and once, years ago when she had been upset, crying, I tried to comfort her. "Oh, don't worry about me," she said. "You know it's just because my eyes are too near my bladder."
Saturday, June 20, 2009
A dreaded sunny day
So let's go where we're happy
And I'll meet you at the cemetery gates.
The house in which I grew-up -indeed, the room in which I was born, since I was born in my parents bedroom - faced a large catholic cemetery. On Sunday mornings I'd walk with my dad through the cemetery, taking our dog out for a long run, on towards the park that sat on the other side of the cemetery. Along the way my dad would tell me stories, we'd read the gravestones of the Polish pilots killed during World War 2...
Also, I would receive answers to awkward questions: 'Why do the stones all talk about Mary as The Virgin Mary? What's a virgin?'
Later, during a brief period of adolescent gloom I spent many hours here, so that I could easily relate to Morrissey's lyrics. There was also a memorable New Year's Eve party here when I was 17, and a key scene in the film '24 Hour Party People' was shot here.
So we go inside and we gravely read the stones
All those people, all those lives,
Where are they now?
With loves, and hates
And passions just like mine
They were born
And then they lived and then they died.
Keats and Yates are on your side
But you lose
Because Wilde is on mine.
Didn't Keats say of himself, 'His name was writ on water'?
Apparently though, stone is no guarantee of permanence either.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
It's fair to say we're of a liberal bent in some matters in England, including the realm of public art. But a statue, in St James's Park, of a man attempting to violate a dolphin?
Of course, we're also regarded as a nation of secret spankers too... but I can't say the dolphin looks too thrilled by it.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Speaking of art museums, this is a shot taken inside the Tate Modern. Having visited a couple of times now, I feel confident in saying the building itself is more interesting than much of the art stored there. Reputedly it's the world's most visited museum of modern art, but I'm here to tell you, the collection is nothing like as good as that of MOMA in New York.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
The blue building in the background, the CIS building was, until recently, the tallest structure in Manchester (which isn't saying very much). When I was growing up, it was an ugly grey block, visible from outside my front door. In recent years its been fitted with attractive blue solar panels, and it is now entirely energy self-sufficient - and much more aesthetically appealing to boot.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
While I may not be one for waving a Union Jack in the air, I do strongly identify as Mancunian, or a 'Manc' - that is, a native of Manchester. The world's first industrial city is undergoing changes, at last transforming itself into a great modern capital. Nowhere is this more noticeable than in the city's architecture...
More on this theme to come.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
And so I'm back - in the pages of this blog, and in the US of A. Over the next few days I'll share a few images from my trip back home to Blighty, and likely a few words to go with them.
This first image may be redolent of national pride, which is a little odd, since I'm not the most jingoistic man on the planet. But on this, my first trip home in three years, I found - to my surprise and delight - much to admire, recommend and take pride in, both in Manchester and London. England - there may be life in the old girl yet.